Are You TEMPTED TO TOUCH Author Nigeria Lockley's Latest Story? Feature and Giveaway!

Author is giving away one autographed copy of Tempted to Touch and a $10.00 Amazon gift card.

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Tempted to Touch
Publisher: Inheritance Books (October 27, 2015)
ASIN: B013W6BUIY
Genre: Christian Fiction
Author: Nigeria Lockley

Kira Seagram is frustrated by her husband Mason’s zeal for the Lord, so she pours all of her attention into her work and reserves her soprano singing skills for the shower. Kira would rather not use them if she get can’t the adoration and recognition she feels she deserves and doubts she’ll find singing lead for Mason’s choir. When a routine drop off at her son, Nate’s private school turns into a ten-year reunion with her ex-boyfriend, Quincy McAdams, Kira isn’t interested in Mason's half-hearted affection or willing to keep her voice to herself. With a firm offer from Quincy to help Kira cut a demo and possibly revive the love they let die, Kira has some choices to make. When Kira finds herself tempted to touch will she remain faithful to her husband or yield to the desires of her flesh?

When I rounded the corner Meena, my secretary, was standing in front of her desk smiling and waving at me. Her attentiveness and bright smile cut right into my investigation into why my marriage was beginning to fail.

“Hi, Meena. Did you miss me?” I asked, referring to the way she was waiting to greet me like a lap dog.

“Mrs. Seagram, you’re so funny,” she said, swiping her wispy brunette hair out of her eyes. “I’m so excited to see you because I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you go into your office.”

“Ugh.” I groaned, letting my arms droop at my sides. “You didn’t redecorate again, did you?”

“No. While you were at lunch you received a delivery and it’s mighty extravagant. I hope that after I’ve been married for ten years my husband still does things like Mr. Seagram.”

“Thank you, Meena. I’m sure it’s nothing out of the ordinary,” I said as I walked past her desk. I turned the knob and my stomach dropped to my heels. On the other side of the door a tall medley of flowers and fruit curled into a G clef awaited me. A smile spread across my face as I approached this massive fruit salad structure. I fingered the petals of the black orchids and inspected the assortment of fruits—pineapple chunks, mangoes, and strawberries covered in white chocolate. All of my favorite things were neatly assembled on my desk. Mason must have thought there was another dog sniffing around his backyard.

“Excuse me,” I said to Meena who was still standing in the doorway gawking at the flowers as I picked up the phone and dialed Mason’s cell phone number.

He probably thought this massive floral arrangement would get me to join the choir and keep my affections at home. I would have preferred some new shoes. Shoot, for a new pair of Fendi pumps I’d churn out “I Go to the Rock” in a heartbeat and have them saints running up and down the aisle of our church in a minute.

“Praise the Lord!” Mason shouted into the phone when he answered. Why did he have to be all holy all the time?

“Hello, Mason.”

“What’s going on, my love? You usually don’t call me in the middle of the day.”

“You tell me what’s going on, Mason. Do you think that a little gallant gesture and some white chocolate will get me to work on the record with your choir?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. The floral arrangement—”

“Floral arrangement?” he queried, cutting me off.

“If you thought that an oversized wreath would get me to sing with that little gospel choir of yours, you’re wrong.”

“Kira, I did not send you any floral arrangement.”

Half listening to his spiel, I dug my hand into the center of the arrangement and removed the card. Without your voice my music is all blues and no rhythm. ~Q

I read the message again and flashes of heat coursed through my fingers. His vulnerability was sexy. Quincy McAdams had gone from a chemistry major to a music mogul and his life was still missing something. The words on the card spoke louder to me than Mason until he shouted into the receiver,

“Well, where did the flowers come from? I will not ask again.”

Nigeria Lockley possesses two master's degrees, one in English secondary education, which she utilizes as an educator with the New York City Department of Education. Her second master's degree is in creative writing. Nigeria's debut novel, Born at Dawn received the 2015 Phillis Wheatley Award for First Fiction. Nigeria serves as the Vice President of Bridges Family Services, a not-for-profit organization that assists student parents interested in pursuing a degree in higher education. She is also the deaconess and clerk for her spiritual home, King of Kings and Lord of Lords Church of God. Nigeria is a New York native who resides in Harlem with her husband and two daughters.

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Passion for Writing with Danielle Rose: Interview, Excerpt, and Giveaway!

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Danielle Rose is writer of fiction and travel, as well as the owner of Narrative Ink Editing LLC. Danielle currently resides in the Midwest, where she spends her days at a local coffee shop planning her next vacation or plotting her next novel.

Danielle holds a Master of Fine Arts in creative writing from the University of Southern Maine's Stonecoast program. In addition to her Master of Fine Arts, she also holds a Bachelor of Arts in English and certification in professional writing from the University of Wisconsin-Parkside.

When not writing, traveling, or writing about traveling, Danielle enjoys being outdoors, cheering for her favorite football team (Go Packers!), and spending time with her husband and their furbabies: two dogs and a cat. For more information about Danielle Rose, visit her website: www.Danielle-Rose.com.

Places to find Danielle Rose

Website | Blog | Amazon | Goodreads | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Pinterest | Google+ | Narrative Ink

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There's no wrath like that of a witch scorned.

Avah Taylor has been given a death sentence: as one of the only spirit users in her coven, Avah has been chosen to wield The Power, the ultimate weapon against the immortal vampire species witches have been at war with for centuries. The Power, given by the gods to one witch of each generation, is considered a great honor, but every witch before has died trying to master this all-too-powerful gift, one that the shell of a mortal can’t contain for long.

On the night of her birth rite, Avah’s coven is attacked, and Avah is left for dead. Confronted with a terrible choice, Avah must decide to either die or save herself by becoming like her enemies. Forced to seek refuge among the very beings she has sworn to kill, Avah vows revenge on those who took her former life from her.

As Avah slowly transitions into a life of blood and war and battles her own feelings for a man she is supposed to hate, she realizes everything she’s been told is a lie.

Purchase your copy of BLOOD ROSE today at Amazon!

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Passion for Writing with Danielle Rose - Interview

Where does your passion for writing come from?
My passion for writing comes from everyday inspiration. I’m awestruck by the simplest things and how they can completely transform my view on the world. This often leads to the creation of a new novel or character.


If your passion for writing was a color, what color would it be and why?
A deep red. I’ve recently read that the color red is associated with fire, blood, energy, war, danger, strength, power, determination, passion, desire, and love. I think those words completely describe my writing, my style, and my love for my work. I am deeply in love with my craft, and it’s terrifying. It’s an ugly kind of love—the kind where mascara-coated tears are streaming down your face and you just don’t care because you’re THAT into it.


How do you keep the passion burning in your relationship with storytelling?
To keep myself motivated, I do so many things: I keep supportive people around me all the time; I use the bribe system and treat myself when I hit my goals; I stay informed by reading craft books and attending writing/signing conventions; and I stay active on social media and interact with everyone. To me, maintaining the passion has never been the hard part.

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Enter the BLOOD ROSE Giveaway for a chance to win a signed copy (1) or one of five eBook copies!

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BLOOD ROSE Excerpt

I closed my eyes and focused on my mother, on her essence. I fought to ignore the overwhelming sensation to reach for Jasik, who lay nude beside me, with only a thin sheet separating him from me. I shivered at the thought of having him touch me again.

I exhaled deeply, focusing.

Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.

My breathing became heavier. Slowly, it became nonexistent. I let go of the human tendencies, the instinctual habits, as my astral self left its binding shell. Soon, I was hovering over my old house, terrified to enter.

Instead, I opted for the front door. We needed their help, and I couldn’t afford to burn bridges.

I floated to the ground, looking around at the outside world. I could see nothing beyond the fog. My legs were heavy as I walked to the door. Slowly, I balled my fist and knocked. I could only lift my arm three times before the weight of my limb overcame me, and it fell limp to my side.

I knew my mother was rejecting me. That was the only reason staying felt physically draining to an astral being. She didn’t want to answer my call, but I couldn’t afford to leave without her help.

“I know you can hear me. I know you know I’m here. Please, Mom. We need you. I need you.” My words were barely above a whisper. It hurt to speak.

My breathing slowed, my body weak. I knew I couldn’t hold on much longer without her.

“I won’t leave. Not without speaking to you,” I said.

The door creaked open. The silhouette of a person stood in the distance. Her back was to me. She was fiddling with a vase of white roses on the table. Even though I didn’t recognize her, couldn’t see her face, I knew it was my mother.

I took a step forward, attempting to enter the house, but I was stopped. With my hand before me, I touched the clear barrier that prevented me from entering my coven’s home. I tried to push against it, silently begging for entrance. It did not give way.

“Why can’t I enter?”

“Your kind is not welcome here,” she said. She didn’t turn toward me. She didn’t look up when she spoke. She simply arranged the flowers. As she moved each rose, petals fell from the buds, drying and turning to dust as they hit the floor.

I tried to push my way into the house. I clenched my fist, brought my arm back, and banged on the barrier. I knocked again, over and over. It took what little strength I had left to not fall, to not return to my shell.

Her head jerked up, and the vase of dead roses fell from her hands, crashing to the ground and shattering into pieces. I blinked, and she disappeared. I blinked again, and she reappeared before me.

“Stop!” she yelled. “Do you really think the power of one vampire can withstand the power of an entire coven? You cannot break our barriers. Now you must leave here!”

“We need your help. Rogues, they’re coming. They’re coming for me.”

“Avah, you know we can’t help you anymore. You need to figure this out on your own. Now please leave.” She paused briefly before adding, “And don’t come back.”

A single tear slid down her cheek, but she turned away. When she faced me again, the tear was gone—replaced by the cold, hard stare with which she had welcomed me.

“I won’t leave. Not until I can speak to the elders. I need to learn about The Power. I think it can help us.”

She laughed. It was abrupt, mean. She stopped herself quickly. “You can’t possibly believe that The Power is still within you. You died, Avah. The Power moves on to the next chosen one. You know the prophecy.”

“No, it doesn’t. I’ve used it. It’s still within me.” I tried to reassure her, but I was losing focus. If she didn’t accept my astral self soon, I’d lose my connection to her.

“That’s not possible…” she said, confused. She turned away from me, lost in her own thoughts.

“I’m still the same. Becoming a vampire didn’t damn my soul. There’s so much we didn’t know—”

“Avah, stop! I can’t help you. Not anymore. You must leave here.”

“Not until I speak with the elders. They must know something. Rogues are coming, Mom. Whether you like it or not.” I was angry, and I was sure it showed. I wouldn’t budge. I’d die before I’d leave without information. I was stubborn, but I was my mother’s daughter.

She sighed, and the barrier lifted. With her acceptance, I was rejuvenated. I felt life flow through me just as it had when I first left to meet her. I stood tall, strong. I inhaled deeply. The feeling of power within me washed over my insecurities, my fears. I smiled and stepped inside.

“You can’t come back here, Avah. They won’t let me help you. Things… things have changed since you’ve left. There are new people in power, and they won’t let me help you.” She ran her hand through my hair, tucking loose strands behind my ear.

“I don’t understand. Are you not the high priestess anymore?”

“They may be listening. You must go!” Tears pooled in her eyes and threatened to spill.

“But we need help!”

“There’s nothing I can do to help you anymore. You must look within yourself.” She placed her hand over my heart and closed her eyes.

Listen, Avah. Listen to your heart. Find the strength within.

“It’s time to go back now. You’ve stayed too long.”

I knew she was right. My astral self had been away from its shell far too long. I never knew what would happen if I stayed in The Beyond longer than necessary, and I didn’t want to find out. I feared so much: The Power, Rogues, The Beyond… There was so much I didn’t know or understand.

“But I still haven’t any answers. I don’t know how to use The Power.”

She began pulling away. The world hazed over again, and through the smoke, I couldn’t see her silhouette any longer.

“No! Not yet! I need to speak with the elders!”

I was hovering over my body. I watched as Jasik lay beside me, whispering into my ear. He told me to be strong, to find my way back to him. Briefly, I wondered how long I had been gone. It seemed like only mere seconds had passed.

My eyes fluttered open as I reentered my body. Jasik leaned over me, running his fingers across my cheek. He smiled at me.

I smiled back and wondered how I’d break the news: the witches weren’t coming.

Purchase your copy of BLOOD ROSE today at Amazon!

Book Touring with Call on Me's Roni Loren - Giveaway, Excerpt, and More!

About Roni Loren

Roni [Site | Fb | Tw | Goodreads] wrote her first romance novel at age fifteen when she discovered writing about boys was way easier than actually talking to them. Since then, her flirting skills haven’t improved, but she likes to think her storytelling ability has. Though she’ll forever be a New Orleans girl at heart, she now lives in Dallas with her husband and son.

If she’s not working on her latest sexy story, you can find her reading, watching reality television, or indulging in her unhealthy addiction to rockstars, er, rock concerts. Yeah, that's it. She is the National Bestselling Author of The Loving on the Edge series from Berkley Heat.

About Call on Me

Oakley Easton wants two things: to be a good mom to her daughter and to ditch her less than ideal night job. Hooking up with bad boy drummer Pike Ryland? Not on the agenda. She needs a promotion. Not sex, tattoos and rock ’n’ roll.

Pike isn’t about to let Ms. Prim and Proper shut him down so easily, especially when he stumbles upon Oakley’s sexy night job. She’s only playing a role on those late night calls with strangers, but when he gets her on the line, all bets are off. He won’t stop until that sultry voice is calling his name for real.

But as they move from anonymous fantasies in the dark to the flesh-on-hot-flesh reality of the bedroom, the risk of falling in love becomes all too high. And the safe, quiet world that Oakley’s worked so hard to create is about to be exposed to the one person who could ruin it all.




Purchase Call on Me at the following outlets: Amazon | Kindle | B&N | iTunes | Google Play | Kobo

The Giveaway!

Enter the giveaway for a chance to win a Custom 4-Pack of Brownies from Wicked Cupcakes (US ONLY); a $25 Gift Card will be sent if winner resides outside of US.

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Top 5 On the Spot Interview with Roni

As a writer, what are your top 5 must-haves when you sit down to write?

I wish I could say inspiration because it would be lovely to have that every day when I sit down. But the muse is a finicky sucker, and I have to write even when he decides to sleep in. But these are some of the things that are my must haves for my writing day.

1. Caffeine – In the morning, this means coffee. The rest of the day iced tea. I’m not breaking any writer stereotypes with that one I’m afraid. Although, I am a new coffee drinker. I hated it every time I tried it until a few months ago. Then all of a sudden it was like—oh, NOW I get it. Does this mean I’m getting old? ;-)
2. Music – I have trouble writing in silence, so Spotify is always on. If I’m in the writing zone, I listen to my faves playlist, which has everything from rock to country to pop and 80s. But other times, I’m easily distracted by music with words or music that’s too “loud.” Those days I pick from the bazillions of playlists that Spotify has. I really like Indie Chill Covers and Instrumental Covers lists because they’re songs I know but they are mellower, or in the case of the instrumentals, have no words to sing along to.
3. Baby Name book – I keep one on my desk because I’m always reaching for it to name side characters. I know there are websites for this, but I find a paperback way easier in this case.
4. Good notebooks and pens – I’m not one of those writers who writes in longhand. I’m not patient enough for that. But I do keep a notebook right next to me to make notes or jot down ideas. The Greenroom notebooks are my fave because they’re recycled and have that ivory colored paper which is easier on my eyes. You can get them at Target. And I am super picky about the pens I use. I like writing in pretty colors and am partial to Pentel EnerGel and Papermate InkJoy.
5. Paperbacks of all of my books – My memory is not so hot, and I’ve made the egregious mistake of not creating a series bible early on. So I often have to flip through my previous books to refresh my memory on something so that I don’t mess it up in whatever book I’m writing. Like, oh crap, that girl has a brother not a sister. Or wait, what color are this guy’s eyes?

A Taste of Call on Me: Excerpt

“Don’t tease me, mama. Tell me. In vivid detail preferably.”

She pressed her lips together, humor in her eyes, and looked toward the road. “You sound like one of my callers.”

“You’re dodging my question.”

She nodded. “A fair assessment.”

“How come?”

She glanced down, a self-deprecating smile tugging at her lips. “It’s silly, right? I talk sex for a living but when it comes to talking to you about it, I lock up like some awkward virgin. I had to fight it the first few times we talked on the phone. Now, in person, it’s coming back.”

He appreciated the honesty. “I get it. Everything’s easier when it’s a role. You talk sex as Sasha. But it’s just you here tonight. Same for me. It’s easier for me when I’m the drummer from Darkfall. But the only person you’ve got in this car with you is James Pike Ryland. So don’t feel awkward. We’re on even ground.”

She looked over at him. “Your name is James?”

“It was my father’s name. But my dad walked out when I was five and I started going by Pike since my mom said she couldn’t stand to hear his name in the house. I legally changed it when I joined the band to separate myself from my history, but for some reason, James still feels like my real name. It’s what my brother called me.”

She considered him. “So if I was in here with Pike Ryland, rockstar, how would it be different?”

He laughed. “We are not going to discuss that. You would hate him.”

She turned her body toward him, devious smile beaming. “Oh, no. We have to go there now. I think I got a glimpse of him the first time we met.”

He rubbed the back of his head. How had he gotten trapped in this corner? “Fuck, all right. I do what’s easy. I tell women what they want to hear. Most girls just want to know how hot they are, how great they look in whatever they’re wearing. It’s much more about them and the conquest of landing the band member than it is about me. I figured that out early on. Then it usually ends up with talk of who I know, where I’ve been, all that shit that makes me sound like a big deal.”

Oakley bit her lip like she was trying hard not to laugh.

“What?” he asked, grinning. “That shit totally works.”

“Oh, I have no doubt. I’m sure ten minutes of that and there’s no more talking because the girl’s head is bobbing in your lap. Frankly, I don’t know why you even bother talking. I mean, looking at you is enough. You probably could just unbutton your fly and point.”

His mouth kicked up at the corner. “Yeah? Would that have worked on you?”

“That would’ve gotten you a knee to the balls. And a thank you for showing me where to aim.”

He laughed.

She turned, peering out at the passing mileage signs. “Looking at you is no hardship. You know that. But talking to James Pike Ryland is what got me here. The other guy would’ve never had a chance.”

The gently spoken admission thumped him right in the chest. He focused on the road, trying not to show on his face how the words had affected him. “Thank you, Oakley.”

Purchase your copy of Call on Me today!

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Passion for Writing: Interview and More with First Family Secrets Author Makasha Dorsey

Makasha Dorsey is an award-winning author, motivational speaker and public relations professional. Her personal essay "Diary of an Aspie Mom" is included in The Motherhood Diaries (Strebor Books/Simon & Schuster). She blogs about being a writer, mother, wife, woman and Christian over at A Wife in Progress and has written for Absolute Write, The Midwest Book Review, SNAPS: 1000 Words, The Daily Times Leader, and ModVive Magazine. Recently, she was named publicist and contributor to Bridal Tribe Magazine. You can learn more about Makasha by following her at these online outlets: Website, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Amazon author page.

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As a child, Tangela Houston experienced “sanctified” cruelty at the hands of her doctrine driven mother. Had it not been for her father's kind, faithful heart and a desire to find her true self, she would have gladly exchanged Christianity for a pair of designer boots. But when she accepts an invitation from Felecia Williams, her mentor and direct supervisor, to visit Greater Tabernacle Christian Center, Tangela rededicates her life to God at the feet of Pastor Keith Mitchell, a man who would do anything to keep secrets from his past hidden. She even bumps into college crush turned professional football player Eric Parker and rekindles the old flame.

Her confidence in her newfound relationship with the Savior and Eric is shattered when she finds herself accused of murdering Felecia and in the arms of David Moss, the newly appointed minister of music, who is tied to her in a way that will change her life forever.

Pick up your copy of First Family Secrets today at Amazon!

Passion for Writing Interview with Makasha

Where does your passion for writing come from?
My passion for writing is primal, ingrained into my DNA. Writing is as much a part of me as breathing. Simple things like witnessing an ant drag something a thousand times its size across the floor or dust motes dancing in sunlight inspires something deep inside me to create, to write, to share.

I use to think my passion for writing was a result of my passion for learning. I was wrong. They are two sides of the same coin—me. The passion for one could not exist without the other.


If your passion for writing was a color, what color would it be and why?
It would be indigo because the very heart of me is intuitive. I like to observe and dissect the complexities of people, places, things and ideas in an effort to understand. Because of this I tend to idealize life, seeing both the good and bad in a situation. I carry the good with me and learn from the bad, which leaves a residue of its own.

My personality is also prone to structure and ritualistic behavior. Most of my main characters and personal essay ideas develop from patterns in behavior, ideas and values.


How do you keep the passion burning in your relationship with storytelling?
"Try not. Do... or do not. There is no try." – Yoda, Star Wars

When you’re passionate about something or someone, you don’t have to try because the passion becomes a part of you. I don’t have to try to tell my stories, they come when it is time. As much as writers, myself included, blame writer’s block on the inability to get a good start or finish on a story I don’t buy into it. I believe that fear prevents us from hearing what our soul compels us to write.

After deciding to write, I committed to it. Sometimes it will take me an hour to bang out a thousand or more words. Other times nothing comes that is related to what I want to write about. I submit to those feelings and allow whatever that needs to come out to flow. After that current of words moves through, I am free to write what I want. The passion is really submitting to the art and then making the art submit to you—kind of like a marriage. My writing and I are one. If I add the passion for learning, we are a trinity.

Excerpt of First Family Secrets

“Maybe my daddy really isn’t my dad, and it makes Mama upset,” she said to Lily, her pillow baby. Tangela used a small pillow as a baby doll.

“Dolls are not allowed in my home,” her mother told her grandmother, who had purchased Tangela a Cabbage Patch Kid with real hair. “It encourages girls to become unwed mothers.”

“Tangela,” her mother called from the hallway, “get out of that bed.”

Tangela tucked the pillow baby under the other pillows, and jumped out of bed. One foot landed on the light green, shag rug and the other slid into her slippers just before her mother turned on the light. She stood in place and squinted as her eyes adjusted to the light beaming from the 100-watt bulb overhead.

“Stop looking crazy! You know that since your daddy has been elected regional superintendent of our church we have to get there on time!” Her mother walked over to the closet, pulled out a long sleeved, ankle length, navy blue sailor girl dress, hung it on the back of the door, and said,

“Make your bed! Only nasty people leave their beds unmade.”

After straightening out the fitted sheet, Tangela crafted perfect hospital corners with the flat one over the mattress at the foot of the bed then made sure it laid smoothly over the fitted sheet. She placed her perfectly-fluffed pillows in front of the headboard before going into her bathroom to wash up.

She took off her pajama top revealing her white spaghetti strapped tank top, turned on her bath water, and drug her step stool over to the sink. Tangela grabbed her toothbrush from the holder and placed it on the counter. Knowing that it would be difficult to get anything out of the flat tube of Crest, she rolled the tube from the bottom and tried to force at least a dab of the green gel onto her toothbrush. Nothing. Tangela turned off the bathtub’s running faucet and headed up the hall to the main linen closet to retrieve a new tube of toothpaste.

“Get back in your room, walking around half-naked,” her mother yelled.

“Momma, I don’t have any tooth…”

Her mother slapped her in the mouth, causing her to fall to the floor. Tangela wailed as her mother hit her repeatedly. “Shut up when I am speaking to you. And do what I tell you.”

“Ruthie!” Tangela’s father grabbed the woman’s arm. “Stop hitting my child.”

“Do you see what she’s walking around the house in, Kevin?” Ruthie said.

“She’s a seven year old wearing pajamas.” He took Tangela’s hand and started walking toward her bathroom.

Tangela sobbed. “I need toothpaste.”

Her father grabbed a new tube of toothpaste for Tangela’s bathroom, took her into her bedroom, and told her to close her eyes. She obeyed and listened to her father’s footsteps fade into the distance and then return.

“Open your eyes,” her father said.

When Tangela opened her eyes, she saw a three ruffle, yellow taffeta dress with a matching purse. She ran over to the garment and caressed the fabric. “Daddy! “It’s so pretty and my favorite color.”

“I know, baby. You look like a ray of sunshine in yellow. Did I ever tell you that your very first dress was yellow?”
“Yeah, Daddy.” Tangela looked at the floor.

“What’s wrong?” Her father picked her up.

“I know why Mommy doesn’t like me.”

“Who said your mother doesn’t like you?”

“No one, but she is always mean to me. I think she knows that you are not my real daddy because I am light-skinned, and you guys are dark. She’s mad about it because you’re going to leave her to take care of me all alone, with no help.”

He stroked Tangela’s long, curly hair, reassuring her in a loving, fatherly tone, “That’s not true.

We are different skin tones because God, our father, made us that way. Your mom has had a lot on her mind lately, but I will have a talk with her.” He kissed Tangela on the forehead and left.

~~~

Tangela heard her parents screaming at each other through the adjoining bedroom’s wall.

“Kevin, you have got to stop spoiling that girl.”

“How is being a good, caring father going to spoil Tangela?” he asked his wife.

“You keep buying her all them colorful dresses. You’re turning her into a Jezebel just like her…”

Tangela’s father interrupted so she did not hear the last part of her mother’s statement.

“Don’t you ever say that again,” Kevin warned. “I treat you so kind. Why can’t you treat Tangela that way? If you didn’t want her, we should have never-”

Tangela ran into the room, completely dressed in the new outfit her father laid out for her, and screamed, “Stop it. Just, stop it. I hate having a momma and a daddy. I saw two girls last week and they were happy with only a momma. I wish I only had a daddy!”

Buy First Family Secrets on Amazon Today!

Passion for Writing: Interview (and More!) with Lady Vice Author Wendy LaCapra

Wendy LaCapra has been reading romance since she sneaked into the adult section at the library and discovered Victoria Holt & Jane Aiken Hodge. From that point on, she dreamed of creating fictional worlds with as much richness, intrigue and passion as she found within those books. Her stories have placed in several contests, including the 2012 Golden Heart®. She lives in NYC with her husband and loves to hear from readers. Connect with Wendy at the following online outlets: website, Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and Goodreads.

Not every lady plays by the rules.

Lady Lavinia Vaile knows what happens to a woman who puts her faith in society. For her, it was a disastrous marriage to a depraved man-one she threatened to shoot when she left him. Now Lavinia lives outside of society’s strict conventions, hosting private gambling parties. It’s only when her husband is shot dead that Lavinia finds herself in terrible danger…

A former judge in India’s high court, Maximilian Harrison will do anything he can to help Lavinia. In the darkest of times, he held on to thoughts of her and the love they once shared. Now he risks his own position in society―along with his ambitions―in order to clear her name. Yet as desire reignites between them, Lavinia remains caught up in secrets and shame. Her only salvation is to do the unthinkable…and trust in both Maximilian and love.

Lady Vice can be purchased from Amazon, B&N, iTunes, Kobo, and All Romance. Purchase your copy today!

Passion for Writing: Three Questions with Wendy

Where does your passion for writing come from?
Thank you for having me on ChickLitGurrl, Shonell! I’m delighted to take part in your passion for writing series. So, where did my passion for writing come from? My late father used to read my sister and I to sleep. Sometimes, he told stories he made up on the spot. I liked the stories that included fictional versions of my sister and I, my sister…not so much. From the poems and books he read, I learned to love language. From his stories, I learned the power of imagination.

If your passion for writing had a color, what color would it be and why?
Silver-grey—the color of clouds before a storm—because I try and pack as much emotion into every sentence as I can. The Furies series involves a good deal of foreboding and nothing says foreboding like a silvery-grey cloud. (Perhaps this exceptionally grey north-east winter is influencing my response, though!)

How do you keep your passion for writing lit?
By reading as often as I can. I write historical romance. I love historical romance. I love history, passion and language and I think writers of historical romance are some of the best when it comes to evocative prose. Elizabeth Hoyt, Sarah Mclean and Mary Balogh are three that always inspire.

GIVEAWAY!

1 Winner – Will win an eBook copy of The Secrets of a Scoundrel by Gaelen Foley and Watch the Wall My Darling by Jane Aiken Hodge

11 Winners – Will win an eBook copy of ONE of the following books from the ladies from Past Thrills: In Bed With a Spy by Alyssa Alexander, Reckless Wager by Christy Carlyle, Captured Countess by Ann Lethbridge, To Love a Thief by Darcy Burke, My Lady’s Trust by Julia Justiss, Unraveling Secrets by Lana Williams, A Shocking Delight by Jo Beverley, Why Dukes Say I Do by Manda Collins, Secrets in Scarlet by Erica Monroe, An Improper Aristocrat by Deb Marlowe and Night Storm by Tracey Devlyn

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Excerpt from Lady Vice

Beginning

Maximilian Harrison’s heart beat for a single purpose: get to Lavinia.

“You will let me pass.” He trapped the lone man guarding the private gambling salon against Lady Sophia’s garden gate.

“But you do not have an invitation. And Lady Sophia does not allow uninvited—”

“You misunderstand.” Max placed a hand on the guard’s shoulder. “I don’t give a damn about Lady Sophia or her rules. I must speak with Lady Vaile.”

Time was tying a hangman’s noose. Already, dawn cast shadows into the mist.

He’d fought his way to the outskirts of London. He’d scaled the outer wall of Lady Sophia’s infamous mansion. He’d dashed through her courtyard like a hunted thief. He had no desire to hurt the guard but, by God, he would not be turned away.

In the space between their bodies, the guard’s grip on his musket tightened. Chilled air stung Max’s teeth. Firearms didn’t frighten Max. If they did, he would have died in that hell-scented cell in India.

A tremor ran through his fingers. Focus. Thirty seconds, perhaps less, and he could have the guard spitting dirt.

No. Destroying him is not necessary. Nor is breaking his bones.

“Lady Vaile is in danger. Unless I warn her, she, and your mistress, will suffer. Open the gate,” Max ordered. “Now.”

Faint lamplight illuminated the flush spreading up from the guard’s neck as his gaze darted toward the garden.

“Go, then.” He unlatched the gate. “But cause trouble and you will pay.”

Max stilled his curling fist. He stepped inside and, with a calculating gaze, surveyed the garden and the gamers within.

So this was the Furies’ lair.

He’d heard fantastical tales of the private salons hosted by the three ladies collectively known as the Furies—Lavinia, now Lady Vaile, and her friends Lady Sophia and Her Grace, Thea Marie, Duchess of Wynchester.
Marriage-minded misses clamored to obtain Almack’s vouchers, but every aspiring rake coveted an invitation from the Furies. And, clearly, invitations had been sent to every dandy, wastrel, and libertine in London.

Maids, not footmen as custom dictated, served guests in costumes accented by silken wings. Miniature cherubs hung from tree branches.

Angels—he snorted—a clever thumb in the face of the hostesses’ sobriquets: Lady Vice, Lady Scandal, and Duchess Decadence.

Around a nearby table, men chanted in unison. “Place the card, place the card!”

Max shouldered through coats of velvet and caught his first sight of Lavinia in years.

She did not look like a fury—all darkness and fear. Haloed in the pale pink glow of early dawn, she appeared almost as innocent as the girl he had courted all those years ago. She still commanded the colors of autumn. Her skin glowed like ripened wheat and her smoky lashes rimmed eyes as brown as spiced ale. A man could become forever mired in those depths, enraptured and entombed.

He blinked to quell the sudden burn in his eyes, a natural result of coal soot and sleeplessness, undoubtedly.

Lady Vice can be purchased from Amazon, B&N, iTunes, Kobo, and All Romance. Purchase your copy today!

Author Angelia Vernon Menchan Shares a Tantalizing Taste of Love's Culture

Angelia Vernon Menchan is an author, publisher and entrepreneur who is about forward motion while remembering history. 

Follow Angelia at Twitter, and check out her blog, SERIALS by Angelia Vernon Menchan, to learn more about Angelia and to immerse yourself in her wonderful stories.

Excerpt from Love's Culture

For the signing, Sadia made a point of dressing up a bit. She had chosen an emerald green dress that wasn’t exactly form fitting but it was snug. She had unbraided her hair, allowing the coils to caress her shoulders and she lined her eyes and glossed her lips. Her jewelry was gold and consisted of earrings and several bangles. It thrilled her that by two the shop was already filled to capacity and book buyers were standing in Cyrus’ line with books in hand. His wife, Philea sat next to him. Lynn had made a variety of cupcakes and other pastries for the readers and there was tea and sparkling water.

Walking in, Mahad was taken aback by the crowd and many turned to glance at him. He was a tall handsome man with dark Arabic skin, short curly hair and a soft low-cut beard. Dressed in jeans and a white shirt it was also clear he was in great shape. His eyes zoomed in on Sadia who was working with the crowd, getting them in and out of line as smoothly as possible. His eyes roamed over her thinking, “Her photo and video did her no justice. She is stunning.” Feeling someone looking at her, she turned to look directly into Mahad’s face and felt something jolt through her.

Damn, that is one gorgeous man, she thought before turning back to her customers. Mahad walked around, browsing her shelves and filling his arms with books he wanted to read. He loved reading books on architecture; he also loved history and biographies. He became lost in the wonderful collection.

“Would you like a bag?” A throaty voice asked behind him. Turning, he saw Sadia standing close to him, offering him a huge cloth bag with the store’s logo of a huge book and a cup.

“I suppose, I need one. Your place is wonderful. Cyrus is my friend.” His eyes pierced hers and she was unable to look away.

“Great, great. I don’t see his book among these.” He grinned at her words.

“Right, I will get that once the line goes down, I am not done shopping.”

“Then don’t let me be a distraction to you…”

“It is too late, you have already distracted me. My name is Mahad Basari. I am originally from Saudi Arabia but this is now my home.”

Taking her hand, he held it and she felt sweat gather at the small of her back and trickle down. Slowly removing her hand, she smiled at him.

“I am Sadia Lemont.” She hurried away feeling his eyes on her.

At the end of the evening he made his way to the counter where Sadia stood next to Alton. Alton rang up his purchases while Mahad stared at Sadia. She refused to look away. Their eyes held until Alton cleared his throat.

“That will be three hundred dollars and sixty three cents and that includes a ten percent discount.” Alton said. Mahad pulled out a card and passed it to Alton but his eyes never left Sadia.

“You have crumbs on your lips.” He said quietly.

She licked her lips, removing the small trace of muffin she had eaten. An immediate thrust of desire hit him and he knew he would have to stand at the counter for several minutes. Alton chuckled, passing him the receipt, walking away. Signing it, he held it until Sadia reached for it.

“Can I take you out for coffee or something…” he asked.

“Sure. When?”

“Now…”

“Umm, that is too short a notice but I am free tomorrow.”

“Great, I will pick you up…”

“Here is good.”

Handing her the receipt, he grabbed his bag and headed out. He completely forgot to say goodbye to Cyrus. She stared out after him and wasn’t surprised when he turned to wave. Alton nudged his daughter. Turning to him, she saw his eyes twinkling.

“He is a prolific reader or he wanted to impress you.”

“I am sure he is a prolific reader.” She made her way to the back to prepare to close the shop. It had been a good but exhausting day.

Mahad sat in his office for hours staring at the picture of Sadia he pulled up on his computer. He wasn’t sure what it was about her but she had gotten beneath his skin.

Want seconds? Check out Angelia's work at Amazon now!

Front Page News: Interview with Author Faith Simone

Faith Simone is a poet, playwright and novelist. She is also an active blogger, sharing her personal thoughts, book reviews and tips for writers on her website FaithSimone.com. Simone is passionate about using her gift of writing as a tool to help promote humanity, understanding and compassion. Connect with Faith at the following online outlets: website, Facebook, Twitter, and Goodreads.

She loved and lost…Will faith give her the courage she needs to love again?

Jacelynn appears to have it all together: a great relationship with her boyfriend Jason who is truly a man after God’s own heart, a decent career and the love of family and friends. But when an unwelcome reminder from her past shows up, her previously uncomplicated world is turned upside down. Will she jeopardize what she has with Jason in an attempt to rewrite the mistakes of her past?

They say you never forget your first love, no matter how hard you try. So far, Jacelynn has done a pretty good job of forgetting Taylor, the boy who had her heart first. When Taylor returns several years later as a man requesting a second chance, what’s a girl to do…Especially when she already has a new man?

The hidden issues of Jacelynn’s heart come to light and she’s forced take a hard look in the mirror while making choices that will change her future forever. Will she be able to reconcile who she was then, with who she is in Christ now?

Living and loving in faith isn’t always easy, but it’s always worth it. That’s what happens…

When the Real Thing Comes Along ... order your copy TODAY from Amazon!

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Faith is giving away Three (3) Amazon Gift Cards! Click on the rafflecopter giveaway button to enter!

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Front Page News Interview

WHO is Faith Simone?
My name is Faith Simone. Fun fact: I’ve lived in three states over the last seven years. I moved to all of them sight unseen. All but the initial move were totally spontaneous! I guess you could say that I’m a bit of a rolling stone. I’ve got my eye on Savannah, Georgia, next. I’ve never been, but it sounds poetic.

Another fun (or weird) fact: I sometimes randomly speak with a British accent. It’s weird and my relatives are always telling me that I’m an American and I should talk like it, lol.


WHAT are three things you cannot live without as a writer?
I cannot live without a computer. Ain’t nobody trying to write these books long hand. I’m also desperately attached to my smartphone. The note-to-self feature helps me keep track of things I want to research, promotional deadlines, scheduled meetings, etc. It totally keeps me organized. I can’t believe I was once one of those people who resisted getting one. Now, it’s an added appendage. The last thing I can’t live without are books. Lots and lots of books. If you’re a writer who doesn’t read I’ve got a revelation for you; you’re doing it wrong!


WHEN did you know you wanted to make a living from writing?
About two years ago I had an epiphany of sorts. I figured out that I was born to write. I also realized that there were plenty of people who made a living doing it and I wanted to be one of those people. I’m still on my journey to being able to support myself solely through writing. For now my social services 9-5 job pays the bills, and I’m grateful for it!


WHERE does your inspiration for writing come from?
My inspiration first comes from God. I’m telling you, that the master of the universe has some awesome ideas! I also get great ideas from simply watching people. Writers are intuitively perceptive observers of life. It’s amazing how an entire novel can bloom from seeing a look pass between two people, or overhearing a conversation at a restaurant. Everyday life inspires me.


WHY did you choose to write When the Real Thing Comes Along?
The idea came about when I was in my early twenties. I had a major crush on a guy who simply saw me as a friend. He had a girlfriend at the time. So I started writing When the Real Thing Comes Along as a form of therapy. In my creative world I figured I could manipulate things to play out the way I wanted them to. It wasn’t long before I discovered that my characters had minds of their own, and I was simply along for the ride. Ironically, the overarching theme of the book is learning to let go and accept the things about life that you can’t control.


As a first-time author, HOW does this first book help to develop the foundation of who you are as an author?
When the Real Thing Comes Along is my first novel and it helps lays the foundation of who I am as a writer by showcasing my style of writing realistic character driven stories of faith, grace and forgiveness. You won’t find over the top plots or sensationalism. I’m from the school of thought that believes that the truth is often better than fiction. I hope that When the Real Thing Comes Along establishes my brand as an author who takes readers on a literary journey in which they will laugh, cry and feel compelled to do a little introspection.

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Excerpt from When the Real Thing Comes Along

“I’m sorry Jason. I don’t mean to hurt you, but I’ve got to be honest.” She gripped her hands tightly. “I don’t know which end is up anymore. I’m so confused. I need time to get myself together. Whether you believe it or not, this is not only about him. It’s about some things I haven’t dealt with.”

His voice was levelly controlled. “Don’t sit there and tell me that this is not about him, when you got next to him and now you want break up with me. What am I supposed to think?”

“I didn’t say that I wanted to break up with you.”

He scoffed.

Defensively she asserted, “I’m telling you the truth. When I allowed myself to do that, I had to admit that I’m not ready for the level of intimacy and commitment you want. I’m still trying to find out who I am. I’m still trying to get over past pain and regret. It’s not fair to you. You deserve more than a broken woman.”

“Don’t tell me what’s fair. It’s not fair that I love you the way I do and you keep pushing me away. What do I have to do to prove to you that I’m for real, that you can trust me?” He stood up and walked out onto the balcony.

Jacelynn watched the muscles in his back ripple slightly as he breathed deeply. She knew that she was doing the right thing but the pain she felt on his behalf was almost physically disabling. She stood up and went into the bathroom. She ran a towel under cold water and pressed it to her eyes, willing herself to regain control of her emotions. Her behavior wasn’t making it any easier on him.

When she came out he was hunched over the railing, his forehead resting on his folded arms. She stood next to him and draped her arm over his back, leaning against him and gently pressing her lips to the back of his neck. He raised himself up and folded her into his arms in one smooth motion, burying his face in her neck and pulling her tightly to him.

She closed her eyes running her hands along his shoulders and his arms, trying to remember him before he was a memory. She absolutely treasured being in this man’s arms. Even now, the craziness she had been feeling all day started to evaporate the longer she stayed close to him. He was so solid, so much of a rock for her. But how long could he carry her? How long could he be her hero before he got tired?

“Don’t do this,” he murmured into her neck. “Don’t do this Lynn.”

She gently pushed him away. “I have to.”

They stood there. A mere two inches apart, but separated because of her fear and indecision.
He leaned forward and kissed her tenderly. “I still love you.”

She flashed back to Taylor saying the exact same words earlier that day. There he was again. Always coming up between them at moments when he should be the farthest thing from her mind. That was exactly why she needed this time to get it together. If Jason really cared about her, then he would wait. God knew she hoped he was for real. She wanted to commit to him whole heartedly. She couldn’t do that if she was still caught up in her past. So even though his eyes begged her to say the words that would make this whole fiasco a distant memory, she kept silent.

He turned to leave and she bit down hard on her bottom lip to keep from calling him back. When the door closed behind him, she walked back into the room and collapsed on the bed. Through her pain and her tears she heard the Spirit whisper, unto everything there is a season.

Order your copy of When the Real Thing Comes Along today at Amazon!

In Touch with SPLITTING KARMA Author LaShanta Charles

Taylor Williams didn't grow up with the loving parents, white picket fence, and a dog. She’s struggled to get where she is and knows that with all she's endured, life can only get better. At 28 years old, she hails as one of the country's top divorce lawyers and is ready to slow down and start a family with her husband. The only problem is he shuts her out and has treated her like everything but a wife since the night he came across her and his boss in a compromising situation. In spite of her innocence, she's determined to make it up to him.

Isaac Warren is bad business; the kind of bad business that requires focus and determination in order to stay alive. It’s also the kind that caused him to shut himself off from serious relationships after the brutal murder of his fiancée three years ago. Now his cold exterior keeps him at bay from everyone except those he considers family and right now that list doesn't have room for anything more than the occasional tryst and nothing more, especially not with the highly acclaimed lawyer he's accidentally stumbled upon.

*This novel is only recommended for readers 17 and older*

Splitting Karma: Kindle / Paperback

Lovely Lies: Amazon / AmazonUK / Barnes& Noble (Nook) (Women’s Fiction / Urban Romance, 4.6 stars, 114 reviews)

Lovely Lies 2: Amazon / AmazonUK / Barnes& Noble (Nook) (Women’s Fiction / Urban Romance, 4.5 stars, 61 reviews)

An Interview with LaShanta Charles

LaShanta Charles has drawn rave reviews for her ability to incorporate romance with a twist and air of mystery, making it a noteworthy work and earning her the award of “2013 Breakout Author of the Year.” Connect with LaShanta Charles: Blog / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram

When did you start writing, and was there a significant event that prompted you to do so?

I started writing while in high school, around the age of 15. I remember writing a “story” that literally never ended. I would pass it along to my classmates and friends for them to read and they would be enthralled and begging for more. I like to think that was my first following! I’ve had a beautiful relationship with writing since then.

What do you enjoy the most about writing?

I enjoy creation! I love when that tiny spark of embers becomes a full blown raging inferno of 80,000+ words. I love the struggle of developing complex characters. I love filling in blanks within my plots, answering questions enough to give you that “aha” moment, but not so much I give you every single detail and leave nothing to wonder. I love seeing a finished product, a work that I put my heart and soul into, knowing that someone somewhere will either love it or hate it and I’ll be fine either way.

What was the hardest part about writing your book?

The hardest part was editing. I wanted to make so many changes (I actually made quite a few); even after my book went to the editor I was still making more changes! Then to receive it back from the editor with critique and suggestions, it was like someone was deciding my newborn baby could only have blue eyes and not brown. It was by far the worst part of it all.

Where do you get the inspiration to write?

I draw inspiration from just about anything, literally. For example, I just saw someone eating an apple – my current heroine will undoubtedly love snacking on peeled apples. I’m inspired by my surroundings, which are constantly changing, therefore I change as well.

Who is your favorite author and why?

I honestly don’t have a favorite author! I know that’s a terrible answer, but there are just way too many for me to pick just one! I’ll read just about anything with a great plot.

What do you like to do when you are not writing? What is your ultimate luxury?

I’m super lazy, so anything that requires physical effort is a no-no! I love to read and I love to eat; and I love to do it all at home alone - no kids, no husband, just me, my food and my books. This can also be applied to different settings such as a beach, an airplane, etc.

Tell us something funny about yourself that not a lot of people know about?

Hmm, I sometimes eat a spoonful of flour…can’t believe I’m sharing this! I’m pretty sure there’s some logical explanation for it and I should probably mention it to my doctor, but nope, I’m good.

Is there anything else you’d like to share with our readers?

I love interacting with readers, so feel free to contact me and let me know how you’re doing or what’s going on with you!

Excerpt from Splitting Karma

My eyes flew open as I quickly sat up in the bed. What was that noise, a door slamming? I scanned the dark bedroom and waited for another sound. The voice I heard shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did.

                 

“Where the hell is my dinner?” Aaron’s voice boomed through the house.

I scrambled from the bed, falling to the floor, my feet tangled in a mess of sheets and blankets. Ignoring the pain in my wrist and hip from my ungraceful fall, I slipped my robe on and practically ran down the flight of stairs.

“Taylor, get your ass down here! A good wife wouldn’t let her husband go hungry!”

I spotted him standing in front of the open refrigerator, his back to me. Without a word I made my way to the oven where his food was already fixed and waiting. I could feel his eyes on me, tracking my every movement as I slipped in front of him and grabbed a beer from the fridge. I refused to meet his eyes. Instead I stole a glance at the time on the microwave. It was a quarter past three. Working late again, huh? “I made you shrimp carbonara. I hope you like it,” I said as I placed the beer and food on the island in the center of the kitchen. Finally meeting his eyes, I pulled the stool out for him. He said nothing, simply stared at me. My heart pounded in my chest. Why wasn’t he responding? “I kept it warm for you,” I said as I closed the refrigerator and took his hand. Without protest, he let me guide him to his seat. I tried to give him a quick peck on his lips, but he turned his head away. A smirk played at the corner of his lip. My lips settled for his cheek and I stepped back. “How was your day?” I asked.

“I want to take a shower when I’m done eating,” he replied.

And just like that, I was dismissed. I took my time going upstairs, hoping he’d call me back. I could at least get a hug, right? I knew that would never happen, but that didn’t stop me from lingering on the stairs. The only sound that came from his direction was the fork as it scraped the plate and the occasional soft thud from him placing his beer bottle on the counter after he sipped. By the time he made it to our bedroom I had a fresh pair of boxers and pajama bottoms laid out for him and the shower was the perfect temperature. He undressed as he made his way past me in silence. I quickly scooped up the trail of clothes he left in his wake. While he showered I tossed his towel into the dryer, so that it’d be warm for him when he used it.

“Dinner was actually very good. I’m impressed,” he said when he finally emerged from the bathroom.

“Thank you. I’m glad you liked it.” I tried not to be, but I was mesmerized by his body. At 32 years old, he looked just as good as he did when we first met and he was only 25. His smooth, brown skin pulled tight against muscles that teased me with their presence. Not big and bulky, but just right for his 6’ 4” frame. His wavy hair was always kept cut low, cropped close to his head. Beautiful brown eyes stared back at me from behind dark lashes. If he’d smile - which I knew he wouldn’t - I’d see perfect teeth lined up behind those thick lips. He glanced at the boxers on the bed then smiled smugly as I gave them to him. I snapped my mouth shut, realizing he knew I was admiring him.

“Take that off,” he commanded.

I glanced down at the nightie I wore under my robe then back at him. My confusion allowed him a moment of amusement. With that same smug smile locked in place, he removed the towel that hung loosely from his waist.

“Your turn,” he challenged.

My heartbeat picked up its pace again as I hesitantly removed my clothes. He closed the gap between us and let his fingertips skim across my chest. I fought the urge to touch him, while silently begging him to touch me more. I hoped against all odds that this wasn’t as far as he would go. He hadn’t made love to me in months. He still blamed me for his embarrassment. He blamed me for his boss’s actions. My only crime was accompanying my husband to his firm’s annual charity banquet in the evening gown that he picked out for me. I looked beautiful in it. It gave me curves where I knew I had little to none. It gave me a confidence boost that I knew I didn’t even need. Well, at least not at that time. Right now a confidence boost would be greatly appreciated. When Aaron’s boss, Bryan, told me he wanted me to help him with some of the evening’s presentations, I was flattered and honored. I agreed to retrieve the notes for a speech he had forgotten in his office, but when I got there he cornered me and tried to kiss me. I’d never been in a situation like that, so I had no idea what to do. When I pushed him away and slapped him, he came back even stronger. My body froze in fear as his hands gripped every part of me that he could touch. When he tried to force his tongue into my mouth I bit him. He laughed and went for my neck. Over his shoulder I saw Aaron and the two other partners from the firm standing in the doorway. One of the other partners, Kaleb, asked what was going on. I tried to tell them he attacked me, but he assured them it was just an innocent hug. He said I’d had a little too much wine – I only had one glass and I didn’t even get to finish it - and he’d caught me when I tripped. A hug was my way of thanking him. Aaron hadn’t said a thing. He only stared at me, rage carefully concealed within his gaze. Of course he hadn’t said anything. He was up for a promotion to become a partner at the firm; his lifelong dream. He’d given Bryan and the others a tight smile before reaching for my hand and telling them he had to take his drunken wife home. That was six months ago…six long and lonely months.

“I can’t even make love to you anymore,” Aaron whispered as he slipped an arm around my waist, pulling me closer him, my body flush against his. The erection that should have been pressing against me was nowhere to be found. For Christ’s sake, we’re both naked!

“Aaron, please? You can.” My pleas fell on deaf ears. He let me go and slipped his boxers on.

“Wake me up at seven,” he said as he climbs into our bed.

“You know I didn’t betray you, Aaron.”

“Taylor, I’m going to sleep. I have a long day ahead of me.”

“Aaron, please? Just talk to me. I didn’t do anything wrong. You can’t keep shutting me out like this,” I pleaded. I was innocent. I was there for him. I was put into that situation because of him. I’m his wife. He was supposed to protect me. It didn’t matter if his career was on the line. His marriage should have been his priority. I should have been his main concern. Instead he blamed me. He told me I was lying; Bryan would never do anything like that. Instead of protecting me when I needed him, he turned his back on me and made me out to be the culprit. I didn’t think I would survive that. I still don’t think I will. “Aaron?” Silence was my companion.

The promotion decision wasn’t supposed to be made until two months later, but the partners announced Aaron as the recipient that following Monday. I pushed my feelings aside and became the supportive spouse; celebrations and lavish outings with my husband and the man who attacked me. Posing for pictures, being nice, and accepting keep quiet gifts like the perfect little wife. Aaron had shunned me since then. I made it my mission to get him to forgive me, but it still hadn’t happened. Six months is a long time to bear the burden of an act you didn’t commit. I put my nightie back on and climbed into bed. Although I longed for it, sleep abandoned me.

Splitting Karma: Kindle / Paperback